It sounded like whispers, you know?
The life dripping from your eyes.

It corroded like zippers, wet,

from years of spilling rain

onto an inconsistent raincoat.

Sometimes I remember, do you?

The amount of time found,

spent and all but lost.

We were children, then,

with nothing but nap times,

play times, and Lego shrines.

Second hands dressed up

as hours; and minutes, well,

they just didn’t matter. 

Splatter paint was a 
way of life and life

was just a way to live. 

The simple times

always flew faster

than the last.